Choices
by Soundspeed
Summary: In the wake of a horrible tragedy, Ash Ketchum learns the hard way of the effects one's choices can have on the people they care for most. PokeShipping.
1. Part 1

I do not own any creative rights to _Pokémon. _I do, however, own this story.

Here it is, finally! And only six months in the making. This has truly been a labor of love for me; I don't think I've ever before put so much work into a single piece. To be completely honest, this has actually been finished since around mid-March. Everything from then until now has been part of the editing and revising process. The original document (sans author's notes, which were added later) stood at about 4700 words, which was then pared down to about 4100. So there was definitely an extra effort made this time around to strip things down a bit.

On the subject of editing, I want to send a sincere thanks to Milotic for beta-reading this chapter. She's awesome, and if you haven't checked out any of her stuff then you definitely should. This story would not be where it is right now without her help.

Anyway, all things considered, I'm very proud of how this turned out. I hope you all enjoy the results as well, and as always, feel free to let me know what you think.

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**Choices**

_Part One_

It was not often that he found himself wandering the streets in the middle of the night. So scarcely did it happen, in fact, that he actually felt a small hint of trepidation nagging at the back of his mind as he passed through the moonlit roadways of Pallet Town. He wasn't entirely sure what brought on the feeling; he knew the place well enough, so well that even the concrete scraping beneath his sneakered feet resounded through the night air with a certain familiarity. He silently raised his eyes to the shimmering full moon, and in the first thought that had crossed him in quite some time (it had somehow sneaked past the blockade that he had so determinedly employed), it occurred to the seventeen-year-old aspiring Pokémon Master that he had no idea what time it was. His gaze still fixed upon the night sky, Ash Ketchum gave a heavy sigh and lifelessly reached down, his fingers snaking their way into his jacket pocket where his pokédex resided.

_Does it matter?_ he thought dully, the machine cradled loosely in his right hand, which hung limp at his side. It was too late. Too late to do anything, too late to say all the things he had meant to say, too late to make amends for the long list of the mistakes he had made along this stupid journey. It was just too late.

Still, he was curious, and leveled his stare as he deftly flicked open the device and brought its illuminated display up to meet his eyes. _2:18 AM_, read the much-too-cheery miniature screen. Ash snorted derisively; he wasn't at all surprised. Dexter offered no form of retort, which in turn only seemed to irk the boy further, and with a decidedly venomous air he shoved the device back into his jacket pocket and returned his gaze to the sky.

The stars were mocking him; he was sure of it. They just sat up there, twinkling merrily like always, as though everything in the world were just as well and good as it had ever been. How could they be so happy? Ash frowned as their stare met his, defying him to let all of his troubles simply slip away into the serenity of the nocturnal air. _His_ troubles were not ones to be shaken so easily. Not by something so simple. Nevertheless, he continued to stare into the heavens.

_"I know where the stars are, Misty."_ Ash shuddered as her name entered his mind once more. The image of the girl's face invaded his consciousness, her cheeks tinted a faint but noticeable pink as her lips curled into a soft smile. And at that moment, the barrier broke. The dam that Ash had so stalwartly fortified cracked and burst.

He fell to the ground, felt his knees collide painfully with the unforgiving surface. He didn't care. His fist slammed into the pavement beside him as he let out a strangled sob. And for the longest time, he was still. Sitting there in the middle of the street, the boy almost hoped that a car would come speeding down the road to his rescue. Considering the time there would be no such luck, and so instead Ash pulled himself into a sitting position on the curb, bathed in a streetlight's warm, orange glow. As he wiped his tears away with a shaky hand, he couldn't help but stare hungrily into the night just one more time, hoping beyond all hope for the miracle he knew could never be.

"_Come _on,_ Ash, it's getting late," the redhead reprimanded, noting the ocher-tinted sky set ablaze by the setting sun. "You know your mother is going to get worried."_

_ "That's right," Brock put in, nodding as he gathered up his supplies and hoisted his backpack. "Your mother even said she's making a special dinner for us tonight! You wouldn't want to miss that, would you?"_

_ The would-be Pokémon Master sighed, knowing he was outvoted. Still, that didn't mean he couldn't give his two friends a run for their money. Putting on what he thought was his best pouting face, he turned dejectedly as he recalled Bulbasaur. "Aw, but I was just getting warmed up!"_

_ If Misty was swayed by this display, she had an odd way of showing it. The girl marched right up to Ash and roughly grabbed his collar. "All right, listen, Ketchum! We've been out here for _five hours!_ Use that brain of yours for once and think about how tired everyone is!"_

_ Ash, surprisingly, cracked a lopsided smile. "All right, all right, lighten up you guys! We can head back now."_

_ The statement had barely left his lips, however, when there was a sudden rustling in the bushes nearby, just off the dirt path on which they were standing. Before Misty could do so much as utter an objection, Ash had practically flown out of her grasp toward the offending sound, pokéball in hand._

_ "Right after I catch this pokémon, that is!"_

* * *

To say that Brock was worried would have been an understatement. With all that had happened over the past couple of weeks, scared out of his mind would have been a much more accurate assessment. At first there had been grief, sadness so great that even Delia, usually warm and full of energy, had succumbed to its influence. Ash had stopped speaking almost entirely, preferring instead to shut himself in his room, which his mother had no will to object to. This left Brock standing alone, his world falling apart around him as he watched the people he cared about slowly deteriorate before his eyes. As he desperately treaded water in this unfamiliar, unpredictable ocean, he realized that he didn't know what to do. And it frightened him.

_She really held us together, didn't she? _It was terrifying how quickly things could change. Fate could turn against you in the blink of an eye, seemingly without reason. As the dirt road turned to pavement and Brock entered Pallet's business district, the breeder started to wonder if there was any easy way out of this predicament. A couple of potential remedies loomed tantalizingly in the form of the small town's somewhat limited but still welcoming night life. Places eager for Brock's money but not his troubles, offering a tempting escape from bitter reality. _Like trying to use a potion on a broken arm._

He sighed slowly, wondering why exactly he had wandered out here, a serene night's breeze serving as his only companion. To be alone, perhaps? To revel in the solitude that only the darkness of night could provide?

_No_, he firmly told himself. _You're already alone._

"Brock? …Is that you?"

The breeder jolted as though Pikachu had shocked him. His head swiveled rapidly upon his broad shoulders as he attempted to pinpoint the offending voice, but the only two things that met his squinting eyes were the bar that he'd wandered in front of and the appropriately dark alley that resided next to it. Neither seemed particularly inviting, so Brock decided—rather quickly—to shrug it off as a traumatic hallucination and take his leave.

"Wait… Brock…"

This time the voice was accompanied by a soft rustling. To his dismay, Brock noticed that the sound was coming from the alleyway. Nothing else for it, he turned and ventured slowly down the darkened passage. He had taken no more than three steps in when his eyes widened in sheer disbelief at the sight before him. "Ash?"

Ash Ketchum was a mess. As Brock's eyes adjusted to the darkness, he could see that the trainer lay haphazardly across a pile of garbage. There was a bloody cut above his left eye and a sizeable bruise on his opposite cheek, which was badly swollen. Numerous trash cans lie on their sides, strewn messily around the teenager. It looked as though he'd been thrown on top of them. _And possibly against a wall,_ the breeder thought darkly.

"What the heck happened to you?" Brock finally inquired, finding his voice.

"Oh, some guy just overreacted."

Brock rolled his eyes. "Sure. About what?"

Ash's face twisted into a crooked grin, which Brock noticed was, ironically, the first smile he'd cracked since _it_ had happened. "Something about me not being eighteen, I guess."

"You not being…? Wait a second… Ash, did you try to get into that bar?"

"I mean, it's not as though I'm that far off!" the trainer slurred, referring to Kanto's legal drinking age, completely unaware of his friend's interjection.

"Have you been drinking?" Brock said incredulously.

At this the younger boy's face darkened. "I _wish_," he said through a grimace, still not making any effort to extract himself from his bed of waste. "That bouncer's got a really mean hook," he commented, his tone colloquial once again as he punched through the air, demonstrating the move for his friend.

The older boy decided that he'd heard enough at that point. He quickly bent down and, before Ash could protest or even say anything for that matter, unceremoniously looped his arm under his friend's and hoisted him to his feet with a grunt. He had every intention of carrying Ash back to the house himself, but the younger trainer indicated that he was capable on his own, and the two slowly proceeded back into the illuminated street.

Brock sighed. "Just what the hell were you thinking, Ash?"

"What are you talking about?" Ash shot back, equally irritated.

"Don't act like you don't know. It isn't exactly normal behavior for you to be sneaking out of the house in the dead of night and trying to force your way into a nightclub," the breeder quipped. "Just what _are_ you doing out here anyway?"

Ash glared down at the sidewalk as they progressed, folding his arms over his torso. "_I _didn't force anything. That guy started it. And I could ask you the same question."

"Don't make this about me," Brock countered intensely. "You aren't stupid, Ash, believe it or not. Despite what Mi—other people may have said in the past, I know you've at least got enough common sense in your skull to know when you're doing something completely _brainless_. So what's the story?"

Ash was silent for a long time, contemplating his answer. Brock was about to repeat the inquiry when he finally spoke. "I guess… I guess I just wanted to get away."

"Huh? 'Get away'?"

"You know what I'm talking about!" Ash suddenly shouted, startling his friend as he turned to face him. "Don't you _dare_ act like you don't!" Tears ran unimpeded down the boy's face as his voice rose. "It was my fault, Brock! If I hadn't been such an idiot, then maybe… maybe she'd…"

"Ash," Brock sighed, shaking his head. "What happened was an accident. No one blames you. You know that."

"_You ready, Pikachu?" Ash called, fingers drumming tensely against the cool, smooth surface of his empty pokéball. He felt his hand open as the instrument enlarged at the press of a button._

_ "Pika!" Pikachu nodded in the affirmative as it bounded off of the trainer's shoulder without a second's hesitation._

"Yeah, an accident that I caused—"

"And even so," the breeder plowed onward, "this isn't going to help. What do you hope to accomplish by going out and doing this to yourself?"

"I don't know," Ash admitted miserably after a brief pause. "I just wanted to find a way to get away from myself. To escape… even if it was only for a little bit." His voice had calmed. The tears had not.

"Well, you got beaten up and thrown in a back alley instead."

"Whatever. The end result was probably pretty similar. Cheaper, too."

Brock sighed. "Ash, this isn't the point. We're worried about you, you know."

The younger trainer was silent for a long time, and Brock, who had become accustomed to reading his friend with relative ease, found he suddenly had no idea what Ash was thinking. He hated the fact that he had fallen so far out of touch, hated the fact that everything he knew and loved had been shot to hell so fast and so easily.

"Please, Ash," he whispered, barely audible.

"Why are you here?" Ash countered suddenly.

"Huh?"

"You heard me," the teenager challenged. "We've already covered why _I'm_ wasting away in the dead of night." His tone itself was enough to chill the air about ten degrees.

Brock fell silent, a little unsure of himself, the question hanging over him like a lead weight. As the two finally reached the Ketchum residence and passed silently through the white picket fence that lined the dirt road, he found that the return to familiar territory hadn't done much to help. After remembering that the back door was unlocked (Brock hadn't bothered to relock it after leaving), the two stole into the darkened house, the silence practically smothering them as they advanced cautiously into the living room. The place felt eerily alien to Brock, as though he were breaking and entering rather than returning home as he was accustomed.

As Ash turned to proceed upstairs, Brock finally found his voice. Extending a hand to rest upon his friend's shoulder, he sighed and said, "I guess… I guess I just wanted to get away too." He gave the slightest of smiles through the darkness.

If Ash returned the sentiment, then Brock certainly didn't feel as much. In fact, despite the lack of light, he could feel the younger trainer's stare boring into his own, imploring him—daring him, almost—to continue. And reflexively, Brock did so.

"So please, Ash… don't think that you're alone in all of this." His voice was desperate now. "Because you aren't… your mother and I are both going through the exact same thing. Please… stop shutting us out. We understand how you feel."

"No." Ash's reply was simple, prosaic even, but the force it carried would have been enough to send Brock reeling. "No. You don't."

He turned away and walked upstairs.

_It wasn't exactly a clear shot, but then again, if it were, where would the fun have been? Ash grinned in anticipation as he called out his command. "Pikachu, Thundershock! Aim for that bush!"_

_ The electric mouse complied, its cheeks sparking as it charged up for its offensive. "Pikaaaa…"_

_ And then, in a moment that would define the three friends' futures from that instant onward, for better or worse, the little pokémon opened its eyes and let loose its formidable attack with a great cry. "CHUUU!"_

_ It was a good shot. The target was struck; the rustling ceased._

_ Not even a year of rigorous study at Pokémon Tech could have prepared Ash for what happened next. With a great roar, the bush seemingly exploded outward in a shower of leaves, time traveling in slow motion as the foliage cascaded around the young trainer. The scene might have even been poetic were it not for the rhyhorn barreling toward him._

_ "Ash, look out!" Misty called worriedly. The trainer did not move. "Ash!"_

_ Ash Ketchum stood rooted to the spot, seemingly paralyzed by the oncoming freight train. He thought he may have vaguely heard Misty calling his name, but she was millions of miles away. It didn't matter. Nothing mattered at this point. His mouth opened, and he thought he may have mumbled something, but he couldn't be sure. As the pokémon closed in on his position, time seemed to move even slower still. Resigned to his fate, he closed his eyes and awaited the inevitable._

_ The impact came, though it was much lighter than he had expected. It was then that he realized that he was falling sideways and not backwards. His eyes shot open, and all of a sudden, the world had resumed its normal pace. He looked around frantically, and was greeted with the sight of Misty Waterflower lying face down in the road, the rhyhorn standing over her. Horrified, he saw her stir, saw her struggle to crawl away. Brock was running flat-out toward her position, simultaneously calling Steelix. But it was too little, too late. Ash could only stare, only sob her name helplessly as the incensed pokémon reared up in one final retaliation._

Ash awoke with a cry, pitching forward in his bed as he was yanked mercifully out of his recurring nightmare. Sweating profusely, he gripped the sides of his lofted bed tightly, as though hanging on for dear life, waiting for the fatal wave that would finally capsize his pitiful lifeboat and drown him.

"Why did it have to be you?" he said aloud. The emotionless walls of his room didn't offer any comfort, and his inquiry went unnoticed in the darkness. The question maddened him, sometimes to the point where he almost expected her to come walking back in through the front door, revealing that the entire thing had been some sick concoction of his mind's whimsy.

_It should have been me,_ he reasoned. _It was my fault. I was the stupid one, not her. I've made so many mistakes, done so many idiotic things throughout this entire journey… and she's the one who had to pay for them._

A sharp, surprisingly cold wind sliced through the darkness, and Ash shivered suddenly. He then remembered that he had used the window to sneak out of his room, and had forgotten to close it after returning. Slowly, he slid out of his bed and clumsily descended the ladder at his side, not really caring when he slipped and scraped his ankle roughly on the wooden surface.

The carpet was cold against his bare feet as he made his way over to window. As he bent down to shut it, another gust blew in to meet his face, as though hoping to get one last word in before the window was closed. The air rubbed abrasively against Ash's features like the flat of an icy blade, and his eyes began to water as he finally shut and latched the thing, drawing the blinds shut for good measure.

Now completely immersed in the darkness, save for one minute sliver of moonlight which had stubbornly crept in through a crack in the blinds, Ash made his way back to his bed, dragging his feet. He reached the ladder leading up to his lofted bunk, and as the fingers of his right hand wrapped themselves around the smoothed wooden surface, he found that the fingers of his left had absently found their way to his nightstand. His hand met a small, angular object. His curiosity piqued, Ash brought the item to his face and frowned as he realized what it was.

He had only found use for it on a handful of occasions, and as a result the pocketknife still shone pristinely in the intermittent moonlight. Misty's gift to him from the year prior felt cool and heavy in his hands, and without really thinking about what he was doing, Ash deftly flicked the blade open, producing a small _click_ and an enlarged glint of light.

In the darkness, a thought crossed his mind. It was not an ordinary thought. No, this thought was an intriguing thought, and simultaneously a terrible, horrid, unspeakable one. But an interesting thought no less. For a moment, Ash found himself considering it, contemplating its possibilities and consequences. Then, as quickly as this compelling darkness had come, it vanished, leaving only the moonlight. Disgusted, Ash flung the blade to the floor, hearing its satisfying _thud_ against the carpet. Without further protest, his mind returned to its original focus.

As he climbed the ladder and finally lay back in the protection of his blankets, he noticed that he was suddenly exhausted. He squeezed his eyes shut, tossed and turned a few times, and finally forced himself off into a restless sleep, hoping for a dreamless respite.

But fate, as always, had the last word.

"_Misty…" he choked, trying to find the right words. They didn't come._

"_Hey," she said softly, reaching up to touch his cheek. "What's that look for?" _

_With her palm pressed gently against the side of his face, Ash realized that she was growing cold. That was enough to bring out a fresh wave of tears. "Why?" he said, his voice cracking. "Why did you do it, Misty?"_

_He blinked suddenly as Misty drew back the hand that had been resting upon his cheek and slapped him weakly across the face. The sound was imperceptibly soft, and yet the memories that came with it seemed to echo like a thunderclap. "You… you idiot. And to think, after all this time I'd hoped you would have known the answer to that." She gazed up at Ash, her stare unwavering._

_Despite the tears, despite everything that had just transpired, Ash could feel the corners of his mouth pulling up into the tiniest of smiles. He stared back down at her as she lay on that increasingly lonely road, the sun now almost completely gone as the sky clung desperately to light._

_Her aquamarine eyes were beginning to glaze over. "Ash," she whispered weakly. Ash had to put his face to hers, desperate to hear what she had to say. Their tears met, joining and merging into one, and he realized she was crying as well._

"_Ash… it was all… because…"_

_And at long last, the light had to admit defeat as night silently fell._

* * *

The first thing he noticed was that the sun was shining. It certainly was bright enough. Groggily, Ash eased his eyes open. He grimaced slightly as the morning light burst in through his window, illuminating the room with its cheery glow. Something didn't seem right. Ash glanced over the side of his bed in time to see his alarm clock strike ten. He'd overslept.

Not wasting any more time, he hauled himself over the side and down the ladder. A warm breeze meandered in through the open window. (Hadn't he closed that?) It whispered its morning greeting, and was gone as soon as it had appeared. The pidgey were chirping as well, and to anyone else this would have been a promising start to a wonderful day. Ash thought for a moment. Come to think of it, he felt different from the night before, at ease. At peace with the world. Perhaps it was only the sunlight.

Choosing not to question the matter any further until later, Ash strode over to the door. Maybe it wasn't too late to get some breakfast. He had not gotten more than five feet, however, when a sharp, stabbing pain erupted in his left foot, jolting through him like a spark from Pikachu. Ash cried out, falling to the floor as he clutched his foot. Gingerly, he lifted his foot up to examine the bottom of it, but his eyes met nothing more than pale, smooth skin. The pain had already subsided, and so he shrugged it off as a freak incident and proceeded out the door and down the stairs to the waiting kitchen below.

_Right on time apparently_, Ash noted, seeing Brock seated at the table. Deciding to follow his friend's lead, Ash took a seat as well, receiving a friendly nod from the gym leader.

"Morning, Mom," Ash piped up as Delia entered the room carrying a stack of pancakes.

If Delia had heard her son's greeting, she certainly didn't acknowledge it. She said nothing at all; in fact, her eyes looked almost emotionless as she set the food in the center of the table and seated herself across from Brock.

"Mom?" Ash said quietly. "Mom? Are you okay?"

"She's been like that all morning," Brock put in, reaching for some pancakes. "Just let it go. I'm sure she's fine… probably just had a bad dream."

Ash shrugged as he helped himself after his friend was done. After liberally applying butter and syrup, he dug in with gusto, not noticing when the fourth and final chair scraped out from under the table, and the last occupant took their place.

And suddenly, Ash felt a tap on his shoulder. Turning his attention away from the bit of pancake still on his fork, the trainer turned to face Brock, who had retracted his offending hand, an apologetic look written across his features.

"What is it, Brock?" Ash said, puzzled.

"Well, you see…"

"Really, Ash? I've been trying to get your attention for at least a full minute now."

Ash almost choked on his mouthful of pancake. Slowly, he turned his head until he finally came face to face with her. "No," he uttered. "You're…"

"I'm what? Don't tell me all that food's _already_ gone to your head," Misty Waterflower said, a wide grin adorning her face. "Now could you _please_ pass the butter?"

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**A/N:** Cliffhanger, I know. This story is a two-part tale, so you will see a resolution in the next chapter... hopefully it will satisfy you! Thanks for reading!


	2. Part 2

I do not own any creative rights to _Pokemon_. I do, however, own this story.

I almost don't even know what to say about this. The ridiculous amount of time this has spent in the deep, dark sinkhole that is editing is, well... ridiculous. There were times when I genuinely thought this was never going to see the light of day, but after a period of near-obsessive rewriting on my part, I am confident that it is finally finished. Finally. What started as an innocent little two-parter roughly a year ago is finally complete. It's been joyous, it's been painful, but it's here. (I apologize very much for this self-indulgent rambling, by the way... it's mostly me venting at this point. Feel free to skip, if you wish.)

In closing, I sincerely hope you enjoy... it's been a long ride. And as always, anything you have to say is very much appreciated. Thanks!

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**Choices**

_Part Two_

He stared at her.

She stared at him.

For the longest time, not a sound was uttered, and it seemed almost as though the silence was determined to smother the two of them. When Misty finally did speak, her voice was subdued, as though it were gravely out of place.

"Ash? Why are you staring at me like that?"

Ash, meanwhile, felt like the grand finale of a fireworks display was going off inside his head. There were so many things wrong with this situation right now, and all of them had to do with the girl who sat across the table from him.

It didn't make any sense. He saw it happen with his own eyes… the twilit road, Pikachu's Thundershock attack, the rhyhorn. In a way, it was almost funny. He'd just begun to come to terms with everything, and now this? _Well, I'm not laughing._

"Misty…" Ash's voice trailed off as he wondered how to proceed. He couldn't just come out and say that she was supposed to be dead, could he? He couldn't quite place why, but something in the back of his mind was warning him not to ask too many questions. _Nothing good will come out of it if you do._

Curiosity got the better of him, however, and he cleared his throat and tentatively continued. "Where did you come from?"

It was only for a second, but Ash could have sworn that he saw Misty hesitate before answering. "What do you mean, Ash?" An instant later, her composure was back in place.

"Yeah, what's going on, Ash?" Brock piped up, having silently watched the pair's exchange up until that point. "Misty came downstairs for breakfast just like you did."

Ash turned to his friend incredulously. "Brock you were _there!_ Doesn't any of this seem a little _strange_ to you?"

Brock's eyes widened, genuine confusion written across his face as he responded, "There for what?"

Ash was dumbfounded. What in the name of Mew was going on here? All previous reserve forgotten, he turned back to Misty and said, "I… I thought you were _dead_."

The hesitation was undeniable this time. Misty blinked and then shifted her gaze away for a moment, as though she were trying to think of a suitable alibi for Ash's accusation. After a few agonizing moments of silence, she spoke.

"Ash, I… I have no idea what you're talking about."

It was a lie, and he knew it. He may not have been the most intelligent person in the world, but over time, Ash had learned to read people. And everything about Misty screamed that something was very, very wrong. Despite this, he realized that he wasn't going to accomplish anything by making outlandish statements across the table, and decided to drop it for the time being.

It seemed, however, that breakfast was a hopelessly ruined affair. The platter of pancakes sat in the center of the table, cold and forgotten in the wake of the curious conversation. Hoping to break the awkward silence and somehow restore some semblance of normalcy, Ash rose with a sigh, collected his plate, and headed toward the kitchen. Brock and Misty followed suit.

And all the while, Delia sat in silence, unmoving.

Ash carefully deposited his plate into the sink and turned on the faucet, letting the warm water run over his hands. His mind still buzzing with unanswered questions, he turned to face Misty, who was standing beside him, waiting her turn.

"Hey, Misty," he began, "could I talk to you for a minute or two?"

The redhead practically jumped out of her skin at this. "Could it wait, Ash? I just remembered that I was going to train today." She dropped her dishes in the sink rather hastily.

Ash's face lit up as he called her bluff. "Really? Great! I'll go get Pikachu and we can train together."

Misty was beginning to look more and more uncomfortable by the second. "Actually, Ash, I think I'd rather go alone this time." She fidgeted, and it looked as though she were edging slowly but surely toward the kitchen door.

"Aw, are you sure, Misty?" Ash said, his tone overly-friendly. "I was thinking we could—"

"I said no, Ash!" Misty's reply was abrupt as she turned and ran from the room. Her exit was accompanied a few seconds later by the sound of the back door slamming shut.

Ash stood rooted to the spot, stunned. Misty's outburst had done nothing to remedy his long list of questions; quite the opposite, in fact. Unable to form a coherent thought in the wake of her departure, he turned to Brock and offered lamely, "What was that all about?"

The breeder was busy drying his hands off. "Beats me. She didn't even bother to wash her hands."

Ash grimaced as he leaned against the countertop next to his friend. "What's going on, Brock?"

"Huh?"

"What's happening? All of a sudden, nothing seems to make sense. Something doesn't add up."

Brock shifted uncomfortably, as though he didn't want to say what was on his mind. Seeing Ash's stare fixed upon him, however, he decided to come out with it, for better or worse. "Ash, the only thing around here that doesn't make any sense is _you_."

"What!" Ash shouted indignantly. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"Calm down, Ash. I'm just a little concerned about you. That's all. You got a little carried away at the breakfast table, back there…"

"Brock, _listen to me_," Ash begged, surprising the breeder by grabbing his shoulders and staring him straight in the eye. "I'm telling you, _Misty died a week ago, to this day_. You were there!"

Brock chuckled nervously under the younger trainer's stare. "You must have had some dream last night."

"Brock, you've gotta believe me! I swear, I'm not crazy… why would I make something like this up?"

There was a momentary pause. "I don't know," Brock admitted.

Ash sighed and dropped his gaze, though his hands remained on the breeder's shoulders. "I just want to know what's going on here." There was another pause, and then his hands fell as well.

"I'm sorry, Ash, but I don't know what to tell you," Brock said as he too headed for the door. "This is some pretty serious stuff you're suggesting. Honestly, I'm a little worried." Ash opened his mouth to protest, but Brock held up a hand, silencing him. "All I'm saying is to give it some time, Ash. These things have a funny way of working themselves out in the end." He turned to leave.

"Wait." Ash finally spoke up. "Where are you going, Brock?"

"Oh, just running a few errands," Brock replied idly as he reached the front door. "You know… boring stuff. You probably wouldn't be interested. I'll see you around lunchtime, all right?" He didn't bother to wait for a reply before stepping outside and closing the front door behind him.

This left Ash standing alone in the kitchen, wondering when and where things had gone so horribly wrong. Misty miraculously appearing alive again should have incited joy beyond measure. Instead, Ash only felt apprehensive as the nagging sense that something was amiss grew stronger by the minute. Hadn't Brock run into him just the night before in downtown Pallet? Hadn't the two somberly guided each other back home? Hadn't Brock tried to empathize, tried to comfort Ash? There was just no way all of that could have been a dream. So then what could have happened between then and now to change all of that?

Lost in his thoughts and with nothing to do, Ash trudged upstairs. He didn't notice his mother, still sitting at her place at the table, still silent.

Ash wasn't entirely sure what to expect upon entering his room. With all that had happened today he wouldn't have been too surprised to find something akin to a dead body lying on the floor by his bed, but when he opened the door he found everything in order as he'd left it that morning, right down to Pikachu, who was curled up on the carpet, sound asleep.

"Pikachu? Wake up, buddy," Ash said, prodding the pokémon gently. At this point he wanted someone, _anyone_ to talk to; he needed someone to hear him out. But the electric mouse did not stir. Ash then picked Pikachu up.

"Pika…?" Pikachu cooed softly as it opened its eyes.

"Pikachu!" Ash exclaimed, possibly a little louder than he'd meant. "Look, I'm sorry for waking you up; I just really needed someone to—"

The raven-haired trainer was cut off as Pikachu suddenly twisted out of his grasp. It landed softly on the carpeted floor and without even a nod or affectionate jolt toward Ash curled up in the exact same spot and was asleep once more.

"Pikachu…" Ash gazed down at the sleeping pokémon. "I guess you're really tired," he mumbled, more to himself than anybody. Nothing else for it, he climbed the ladder to his bunk, lay back against his mattress, and stared off into space, his mind a blur.

Even the ceiling, it seemed, was in no mood to listen.

* * *

Misty returned about an hour later, but when Ash had approached her, she had mumbled something about needing to take a shower and had rushed off. He then attempted to catch her on her way out of the bathroom, which turned out to be a poor decision. Undaunted, he tried once more as the girl had just settled into the couch in the living room, a magazine open in her lap.

"Hey, Misty," Ash greeted, his tone amiable as he took a seat next to her.

"Oh! Hi, Ash," she replied somewhat shakily. Her eyes did not meet his. In fact, they seemed to be fixed rather intently on the magazine.

Ash sighed. This wasn't getting him anywhere, so he decided to cut straight to the point. "Misty, we need to talk."

Ever so slowly, her gaze broke away from the periodical and rose to meet his stare. When it did, Ash was nearly stunned silent. Misty bore a look of reservation, reluctance. She was afraid.

"About what, Ash?"

_What do you mean, 'about what'! How about the fact that, oh, I don't know, you were dead just a few days ago! _Ash's mind was screaming, and he had to take a couple deep breaths to calm down. "Misty, I just want to know what's really happened over the past few days."

"Ash, I…" Misty's voice trailed off, and her stare darted nervously to the side, as though she were afraid of eavesdroppers.

Ash followed the look and his eyes fell upon the kitchen, which was completely uninhabited save for his mother, who was silently working away at something with a knife. "Huh? Mom?" he thought aloud, audible enough for her to hear. She did not turn, which further puzzled him.

"We shouldn't be talking about this right now," Misty said, her tone barely above a whisper.

"But—"

"Ash, listen. I don't think it's a good idea for them to hear about it."

"Hear about what? And who's 'them'?"

Misty shook her head. "There's no telling what would happen if they knew that—"

"I'm back!" Brock's greeting practically threw the pair out of their seat as he stepped in through the front door. "What's going on here?" he said, chuckling at the sight of Ash and Misty lying in a state of disarray on the sofa.

Ash grinned sheepishly, Misty's words still echoing through his head. "Nothing out of the ordinary, Brock—oof!" He gasped as Misty elbowed him sharply in the side.

"Okay…" Brock shrugged. "I can see the two of you are getting along a bit better," he said dryly. "So when's—"

"Lunch."

The voice was so lifeless it was chilling. It threw all three of them momentarily, and for a second they looked around trying to find the source of the offending sound before simultaneously settling on Delia, who was standing in the kitchen doorway with a plate of sandwiches. She said nothing more before proceeding to walk out the back door and onto the patio.

Ash, Misty, and Brock all exchanged looks. No one really had any desire to argue with her, especially after hearing her tone, so they followed her outside, but not before Misty shot Ash a glance that clearly said, _Later._

As the three took their places at the table by the lawn, there was a small _clink_ as Delia set two glasses of lemonade down between them. Ash was busy reaching for one when he noticed the discrepancy.

"Hey, Mom, I think you forgot one."

Silence.

"N-No worries!" Misty sprang up a little too eagerly. "I'll just run inside and get something myself."

In stark contrast that morning's meal, lunch proceeded in almost complete silence upon Misty's return to the table. After the three had finished and washed up, Ash caught Misty's eye. Once again, she looked reluctant, but nevertheless nodded in assent. The two excused themselves, and Brock, who had announced that he was going to take a nap, made no move to follow.

* * *

The path was longer than he'd remembered. Maybe it was just the midday heat. Whatever the case, Ash could feel his feet aching as he and Misty traversed up the dirt road in relative silence. It was the same dirt road that he and Brock had walked the night before.

The same dirt road where _it_ had happened.

In all honesty, Ash didn't really know where he was going or what he was looking for, if anything. So when he saw the grassy hill that overlooked Pallet's coastline off to the side of the path, he took the opportunity to stop and rest. Wordlessly, Misty sat down beside him on the ridge.

A soft breeze passed timidly between the two. "Misty…" After what had happened, her name felt almost foreign, unfamiliar. "What happened, Misty? I saw everything. I…" Ash trailed off, swallowing the lump that had formed in his throat. His eyes were fixed upon the rolling coastline before them. "I… watched you die."

"I know." Misty's answer was as surprising as it was abrupt. Ash wasn't entirely sure what he'd expected to hear, but to finally know that he wasn't completely insane was a nice relief. "I remember everything," she continued. "We were on that road, you got charged by the rhyhorn, and I pushed you out of the way. And then…"

"And then you were gone," Ash finished softly.

Misty turned to look at Ash. "Yeah… I was gone. But not completely."

"Huh? What do you mean?"

She sighed. "I can't really explain it. I felt like I was dreaming… I saw you and Brock and your mother and everyone else. I knew I was dead, and that this was it… but then I woke up and I was in my room in your house, just like before." She paused, as though she had a hard time believing it herself. "I came downstairs for breakfast and saw you. You were the only one who seemed to remember anything, and I didn't want to cause any alarm, so I played along with everyone else."

Silence overtook the next few moments, save for the cries of a flock of pidgey flying overhead. "So then what is this?" Ash wondered aloud. "Is this all a dream? Am I going to wake up and find out that you're still… dead?"

"I'm not sure," Misty admitted quietly. "All I know is that I was gone, and now I'm here, one way or another. Maybe I was brought back to life somehow?" Her guess seemed somewhat halfhearted.

"You think so?"

"It's possible," Misty said with a shrug. "Stranger things have happened… both of us can attest to that." A small smile crept across her face.

Ash thought for a moment and frowned. "Yeah, but that doesn't explain Brock… or my mom, for that matter." Delia's behavior was something that had bothered the raven-haired trainer since breakfast.

Misty sighed, her fiery hair swaying in the gentle wind. "I know…" Her voice trailed off, and she gave another sigh as she fell backward, laying back against the grassy hillside.

"Misty, what is it?" Ash said, somewhat confused by her actions.

Misty stared upward, her eyes meeting the sky as she responded. "It's just that… well, part of me doesn't really want to know the answer, Ash."

"Huh? What do you mean?"

"I mean, whatever's going on, I'm alive again. Or, at least, _something_ like that. Why ask questions? I'm here now." She paused momentarily, and for a second Ash could have sworn he saw her cheeks redden, if only slightly. "And you're here, too."

Ash could feel his face heating up considerably as Misty's words washed over him. And suddenly, his train of thought took an odd turn as he was brought back to the conversation they'd had just a few days ago on the fateful evening. It seemed like such a distant memory now, but one detail still stuck persistently in Ash's mind. And it was that one little detail that guided him as he lay back beside her.

"So… um… Misty?" His voice cracked ever so slightly upon uttering her name, a testament to his nervousness. How did she always manage to do that to him?

A melodious sound floated up through the air, and Ash realized that Misty was giggling softly. "Yeah, Ash?"

Ash took a deep breath, steeling himself before taking the plunge. "Did you mean it? You know… what you said before?"

There was a pause, and for a second Ash half-expected Misty to hit him with some sort of sarcastic remark… or maybe just hit him. But to his surprise, when he glanced over in the water trainer's direction he found her staring back at him as she nodded almost imperceptibly.

"Mm-hmm," she said, her voice so soft that the breeze almost drowned her out.

And suddenly, Ash felt rather lightheaded. The wind that had previously threatened to steal away Misty's simple yet resonating admission now felt as though it were poised to lift him off of his back and carry him away into the sky. Ash, however, had no intention of going anywhere, certainly not _now_, and so he did the first thing that his instincts screamed for him to do.

Slowly, painfully almost, his hand worked its way over until his fingers met her open palm. And tentatively, they stood there, unsure of their next move. Misty removed all doubt, however, as her hand slid the rest of the way under his and their fingers intertwined.

Ash's head felt just about ready to explode at this point, and he probably wouldn't have noticed or cared if it had. Trying to calm his seriously overworking heart, he opened his mouth to speak once more.

"Misty, I… I…"

Again, she laughed softly. "Yes, _Ashy-boy_?" Her voice, like his, was timid, but a playful undertone was peeking out.

If at all possible, Ash blushed even more at her use of his old, much-hated nickname. "I…" Why was it so hard to say? She'd already admitted it to him, after all…

"Ash," Misty cut in, effectively silencing him. The next thing he knew, her head was atop his right shoulder, up against his neck. "Shut up."

And so they lay there, just the two of them, with only the sky and the sun and the clouds as their companions. Neither knew for sure how much time passed by while they were there, and frankly, neither really seemed to care. Ash, in particular, found now that Misty had been right all along. It didn't matter what had happened or what the "truth" was. All that mattered was her, and she was there… somehow, someway.

The sun had just begun its descent when Ash and Misty decided that it was time to return home. Ash frowned as he sat up, his attention diverted from the sight of the reddening horizon. Misty was quick to catch his change in demeanor, however, and wasted no time in voicing her concern.

"Ash, is something wrong?"

Ash grimaced slightly. "It's nothing huge. It's just… my foot…" He noticed with some unease that his left foot hadn't stopped aching since the two had stopped at the hill earlier that afternoon. That was a long time ago, though… surely this wasn't normal?

Gingerly, Ash reached down and undid the laces on his left sneaker. He pulled the shoe off. Misty gasped sharply. His left sock, once as white as the afternoon clouds, was stained almost completely deep crimson. It was soaked with blood.

"Oh my…" Misty breathed as Ash pulled the stained cloth off of his foot. "Ash, how did this happen? Are you okay?"

"I… I think so," Ash replied shakily. An odd thought crossed his mind, and he lifted up his foot to examine its underside. When he looked, however, he saw nothing but untouched, pale skin. There was no trace whatsoever of blood or any other substance. "I… probably just stepped in something on the way over here. Maybe some berries got in my shoe somehow?" His foot had conveniently ceased to ache.

"Maybe…" Misty agreed, though her look held something almost akin to suspicion. However, it was gone as soon as it had come.

Ash balled the ruined sock up and jammed it inside his jacket pocket. After slipping his sneaker back onto his now bare left foot, he stood up and offered Misty his hand with a smile, the incident already forgotten. With a smile to match, she took it, and their fingers interlocked once more.

"Come on, Misty… let's go home."

* * *

By the time the two had reached Ash's house, it was dark outside. The front light was on, beckoning them inside as Ash opened the front door.

"We're home," he called, not seeing anyone at first glance. He slipped his shoes off at the door, not bothering to let go of Misty's hand.

"Hey guys," Brock replied, his voice light and relaxed. He lay stretched across the sofa in the living room while the television blared idly in the background. "Where have you two been all day?" His voice carried the tone of an obviously loaded question.

"Oh, you know…" Ash began, his voice trailing off when he found that he couldn't think of any decently reasonable explanation that would satisfy his friend.

"…Around," Misty finished for him.

Unconsciously, their hands had remained locked, and Brock was quick to pick up on this as he smirked and said, "I see. Anything exciting happen?"

Ash shrugged, completely missing the inference as per usual. "Not really."

The breeder laughed, ready to call his friends out on what had obviously been going on. "Really? Nothing? Well, then what about…" And suddenly, Brock got very silent. His eyes widened, and his voice carried an alarming sense of urgency as he said, "Ash… what happened to you?"

"Huh?" Ash looked at Misty and then back to Brock, genuinely confused. "What are you talking about, Brock?"

"Your foot," Brock gasped, pointing downward as though Ash may have needed help finding it. "Ash, you're bleeding all over the carpet!"

Quicker than Pikachu's Agility attack, the raven-haired trainer's eyes darted downward. Sure enough, his eyes were met with the sight of his left foot surrounded by a fresh pool of blood, the carpet completely saturated.

_It was horrifying… and yet so, so satisfying._

"I'm… okay," Ash stammered. What was that thought just now?

"Ash?" Misty put in, concern written across her cerulean eyes.

"Let me help," Brock started, climbing over the back of the sofa.

"_No!_" Ash shouted before he really realized what he was doing. "Leave me alone!"

_Through it all, her face shone in his mind, clear as day._

His mind was in a panic, screaming at him to get out of there, to get away from them. He felt his hand open, felt Misty's hand fall from his grasp. And then he ran. He dashed upstairs, looking desperately for some escape route. None presented itself, and so as a last resort he turned the corner and threw himself into his bedroom.

"Ash, wait up!"

That was Misty, hot on his heels. He ignored her. He didn't even notice Pikachu, still asleep on the floor behind him as he frantically opened his dresser, pulling out the first piece of clothing he could find. It was an undershirt, plain white, unmarked. Ash feverishly applied the shirt to his foot, tying it tightly against the long, bloody gash that had somehow appeared on the underside. And then he fell to the floor, panting.

"Ash!" Misty burst in through the doorway, her face red. "Ash, what's going on!"

"I don't know!" was all Ash could shout from his spot on the floor. "I—ugh!" A slashing pain erupted in his left arm, and a new gash materialized on his forearm before his terrified eyes.

"Ash…" Misty gasped, hand over her mouth.

Ash now needed something to stem the bleeding from his arm, but couldn't reach his dresser from the floor. For some reason, his legs did not seem to be cooperating. Frantically, he dug through his pockets and found the dirtied sock from before. He barely noticed a small, hard object fall out of his pocket and hit the floor with a _thud_ as he pressed the already-stained cloth to his arm.

"What's happening to me?" he wondered pleadingly, his eyes imploring Misty for an answer.

She didn't seem to hear him, however, as she wordlessly bent down and picked up the small object that had fallen from his pocket. In her hands, the open pocketknife still shone under the light from the ceiling, only slightly marred by the fresh blood that lined its honed edge.

Misty's voice was little more than a ghostly whisper. "Ash… what did you do?"

"Wh-What are you talking about, Misty?"

"Don't you get it?" Misty's voice was rising now, not unlike Pikachu charging for a particularly nasty attack. "This whole time, it's been about you, Ash. All of it!"

"What's been about me! What's going on here!" Ash's voice carried more than a hint of desperation.

"What did you do?" Misty repeated her question from before. Ash let out a small yelp of surprise as she suddenly lunged at him, grabbing his shoulders with surprising force. She was almost screaming now. "What did you do, Ash!"

Suddenly, Ash felt very dizzy. He didn't really notice Misty's increasingly futile attempts to break through to him. He barely acknowledged Brock, arriving at the door to his room, wondering what was happening now. It hardly even occurred to him that Pikachu had finally stirred from its spot on the carpet and had run over to him, tugging on his jacket with alarming urgency.

And then, it all fell away into nothingness, evaporating like the night's rain on a warm morning. In its stead, a new scene played out before his eyes.

_He awoke in tears. It had happened again._

_ The dream. Of all his nightmares, why did it have to be this one? He could still see her face, her eyes empty as her last breath left her, hopelessly dissipating into the evening air no matter how much he tried to cling to it. The image did nothing to calm him, and so for a while he simply sat in bed and cried._

_ Eventually, the tears stopped, just as they always had. He was a mess. Needing a drink and maybe a nice splash of water on his face, he shakily descended the ladder next to his bed, still sniffling. The all-too-familiar dream was still unfortunately fresh in his mind._

_ He trudged sleepily across the carpet, dragging his feet. And the next thing he knew, there was a slashing pain in his left foot and he was falling. He hit the floor with a cry, and for a second did not stir, his foot throbbing mercilessly. Then, with a groan, he slowly pulled himself up into a sitting position, propping himself against one of his bed's supports as he dazedly examined himself._

_ A long, bloody gash ran down the bottom of his foot. The culprit was not far away, either. The pocketknife lay open on the floor, right where he had thrown it earlier that night, its keen edge now coated in a substantial layer of his own blood. For some reason, he felt a strange affinity to it now as he picked it up, studying the reddened blade with an odd sense of wonder._

_ His foot continued to bleed, but he didn't notice or care. As he stared at the knife, the thought entered his head again. It was the same thought that he had encountered earlier that night. He recalled his dream, remembered Misty as she uttered her final words that he strained so desperately to hear. It was strange; he hardly felt sad anymore. In fact, all he could feel was the throbbing of his foot, the burning sensation that was coursing up through his lower leg. And as that thought—_the_ thought—blossomed in his mind, it suddenly seemed so much more plausible. More intriguing._

_ It was almost inviting._

_ Pikachu had been awakened by his fall. It had run over to him, and was now tugging on his nightshirt urgently, staring questioningly up at its master's eyes, which were fixed upon the instrument. It could do nothing but let out an alarmed squeal as its master took the knife to his arm and drew it slowly across his wrist._

_ It was horrifying… and yet so, so satisfying. The burning sensation filled his consciousness yet again. It was like a drug, soothing away his despair and replacing it with a warm, blissful fire. He felt Pikachu nudging him, pulling on his clothes, desperate to get his attention and somehow stop him, but none of that mattered now. He continued his actions, the fire growing in intensity._

_ He began to feel faint and he smiled softly. His body was tingling, none too unpleasantly, and he had the strongest urge to close his eyes and drift off into a peaceful sleep. He had a feeling that he wouldn't be having problems with nightmares this time around. Still, it wasn't quite enough. He needed more._

_ Hurrying, for he could feel himself fading by the second, he drew the knife in a long, almost graceful line along the length of his forearm. He could hear Pikachu moan in anguish as he finally collapsed to the side, his breathing heavy. He closed his eyes._

_ Through it all, her face shone in his mind, clear as day._

It all started to come back. He lay on the floor of his room, Misty kneeling above him. Brock and Pikachu were nowhere to be seen.

"Ash?" Misty said tentatively.

Ash sat up slowly, his head still spinning. The bleeding had stopped; in fact, all of the cuts that had appeared on his foot and arm had disappeared, leaving no trace behind.

"I did this," he said slowly. Misty nodded, and he continued. "I… killed myself."

He stood up, only to find that the carpeted floor had disappeared. He and Misty stood on nothing, merely floating above a sea of pitch black. And suddenly, the world around them began to fade. His dresser became ghostly transparent, and then disappeared. His bed disintegrated and was swept away, like sand in the wind. All around him, the walls, his door, and the window that he had sneaked out of the night before all came apart at the seams and then fell away. And as quickly as they had gone, new things appeared before the two.

They saw Delia come to check on him the morning after when he did not respond to her calls. They watched as she opened her mouth to scream, fell to the ground, and wept, her body shaking on the floor as grief consumed her. They saw everything, including the next day, when Delia stopped speaking. She only talked when absolutely necessary, even when visitors would show up at her door, offering their sympathies. Even after recovering, her eyes never had the same life they once did.

Brock had come running when he heard Delia's scream, but could only stand in the doorway, shock washing over his face as he realized what had transpired. He had frantically phoned for an ambulance, but it was of no use. And then, the next thing they saw was the breeder packing his bags, leaving to return to his home in Pewter City. He reclaimed his position as Gym Leader, took care of his siblings, and tried his best to go on like before, as though nothing had ever happened.

And finally, there was Pikachu. They watched as Ash fell over, the knife still in his hand, Pikachu in tears now as it cried its master's name in its native tongue. But it was to no avail. Out of desperation, Pikachu curled up atop Ash's still chest, as though protecting him from any further harm. It would be hours before it could be coaxed into moving, and even then, it would return to the same spot every night to sleep, as though waiting for him to return. In the meantime, it would watch over Delia, determined not to let it happen again.

Then, before Ash and Misty's eyes, they disappeared as well, leaving behind nothing but faint memories. The darkness closed in, and yet Ash could still see Misty standing before him, as though her very presence was illuminating enough to keep the blackness at bay for just a little longer. He couldn't… he didn't deserve to. He hung his head in shame.

"Mom… Brock… Pikachu…" he whispered. "What have I done?"

"Ash…" Misty breathed. Her voice was as soft as her touch as she gently took his hand.

"How could I do this to them?" Ash wailed, his voice rising suddenly as he stared Misty straight in the eye. Overtaken by remorse, he continued. "I'm sorry! I'm so, so sorry for everything…"

"Ash." Misty's voice was firmer this time, though her touch remained the same. "Listen to me." She took his other hand now as well. "Ash, I made my choice. I made my choice when I pushed you out of the way, remember?"

Ash could only nod through the tears.

"You made your choice too, Ash." Misty's cerulean gaze bored straight into his own. "And now, whatever happens, for better or worse, we have to live with our choices."

Ash sniffled. "But what's going to happen, Misty? Will you be there?"

At this, Misty smiled, blushing softly. "I don't know what's going to happen, Ash. One way or another, though, I promise you that I'll always be there."

For the first time in what seemed like an eternity, Ash smiled. His smile extended into a full grin as he embraced the girl of his affections, the girl who had sworn to be by his side until the end of time. As he did so, the darkness started to recede, pure white light slowly but surely taking its place. Sensing that there wasn't much time left before the light fully enveloped them, he spoke.

"Hey, Misty? About what you said earlier…"

He heard her laugh. "What is it, Ash?"

"I love you too."

He could practically feel her smile as her grip on him tightened. The light was nearly blinding now, and the two of them pulled apart just long enough for their gazes to meet. Then, she closed her eyes. He did the same. Their faces inched closer, and Ash felt their lips brush ever so slightly…

And everything was white. Ash's eyes shot open, but there was nothing, save for the light. Misty was gone. He wanted to cry out, to call her name, but no sound came.

His breath caught in his throat as the light died away.

She would always be there.

_**The End**_

_**

* * *

**_**A/N: **First off, thanks for reading. Mainly I wanted to say that I hope I didn't give the main twist away too early... I was mostly worried that I was too obvious with the foreshadowing (the two glasses of lemonade, the "dead body" reference, etc). This is kind of the first time I'd written something quite like this, so I'm wondering what you all thought.

Thanks again!


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